


Decadence as Duty

by thequeergiraffe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Endverse, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, tw alcohol, tw drugs, tw self esteem issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:55:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequeergiraffe/pseuds/thequeergiraffe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something about an unwashed, unaffected man with his nose in a book appeals to the campers, who are used to flinty eyes and sharp words, and seem thrown by Castiel’s easy smiles. They notice him; they watch him with wary interest. He feels their eyes on his back everywhere he goes (it’s important to walk on that leg, Dean tells him, his tone brusque and a little distant, so Cas does) and he ignores them. His disinterest only interests them more.</p><p>--<br/>An account of Castiel's life in Camp Chitaqua.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decadence as Duty

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really sure where I'm going with this yet (or if I'm going anywhere at all) but I'm pleased with what I've got so far.

It starts with the drinking. Cas breaks a bone in his left foot, a bit of idiotic clumsiness in a body he isn’t entirely used to piloting solo yet. He shouldn’t have been out with Dean (the others said so; he took it as jealousy and ignored them) and his tumble sends them back to camp early, and empty-handed. The others sneer at him for days before ignoring him entirely. Chuck, though…he seems to understand. At night he slinks into Castiel’s cabin, glancing over his shoulder as he comes in to make sure the others don’t see him, and brings Cas presents. “Booze,” he says, his smile a little off, his blue eyes boundless, “for the pain. And books for the boredom.”

The books Chuck brings are wonderful, and Cas slips away inside them gratefully. He devours Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, hurtles through both The Odyssey and The Iliad, and struggles through a worn-out copy of the Bible, touching each unnaturally thin page with the gentleness of a new lover. Psalms makes him weep; Revelations makes him shudder. He knows it’s riddled with inaccuracies, this copy (and all copies made by human hands) but he finds he doesn’t care; the words of the true Scripture are fading in his mind with every passing day, and he relishes the opportunity to touch the names of friends and family he knows he’ll never see again. It feels like slipping back in time.

The alcohol helps him escape the camp, too, leaving him numb and smiling as he limps to the well each morning and the mess hall every night. Something about an unwashed, unaffected man with his nose in a book appeals to the campers, who are used to flinty eyes and sharp words, and seem thrown by Castiel’s easy smiles. They notice him; they watch him with wary interest. He feels their eyes on his back everywhere he goes (it’s important to walk on that leg, Dean tells him, his tone brusque and a little distant, so Cas does) and he ignores them. His disinterest only interests them more. In the blink of an eye, Castiel is the camp pet, and his cabin is never empty. This means less reading, of course, but Cas makes up for it by having the campers tell him stories. Risa is the best story-teller, after Chuck, but Cas listens to all of them with equal gravity, his legs crossed, a bottle cradled in his lap, his eyes closed.  Their words pull him away like the tide is pulled from the shore, but he knows that, like the ocean’s tides, he’ll come crashing back soon enough.

He hates crashing. It leaves him dirty-mouthed and razor-tongued, and no one comes to his cabin to tell him stories when he’s like that. “It’s that shit you drink,” says Ronnie, one of the younger guys. “You ever try Oxys?”

Castiel has not. Ronnie volunteers for the next supply run, and he comes back with a little orange bottle that he tosses to Cas with a smile that promises more to come. “Take two of those,” Ronnie grins, “and thank me later.” Cas takes three little pills with a swig of Johnny Walker Blue, and drifts into a perfect and impenetrable calm.

\--

The sex, of course, is to be expected. People come to Castiel’s cabin at all hours, whispering to him about their lives Before, telling him their secrets, revealing all their fears and hopes and worries. The burden would be too much if it weren’t for the drugs, but as it is Cas carries the camp’s collective weight with a smile. The others grow to love Cas, and because they’re human, they express it the only way the know how. Ronnie is the first; his clumsy kisses and trembling touches seem to drift down to Cas through a fog, and he accepts them because it seems to him that Ronnie needs them, and because some part of himself needs them, too. Sex is a sort of communion. Despite all the words that have been spoken in his cabin, all the weights placed upon his shoulders, Cas discovers there is more to carry, wordless things that can only be expressed with mouths and skin and needy hands. The occasional twinge of pain in his foot reminds him that this is all he’s good for, now, and he accepts it. Dean may be broken, but he’s all that remains of the Dean that Castiel once knew, and he’ll do anything, anything, to help him. Dean needs the campers; the campers need this from Cas. It’s really that simple.

Ronnie brings a couple of women the next time, and a couple more the time after that. Cas accepts them with preternatural calmness. After all, everyone in the camp has a story to tell, and that story can’t be told in only words. He invites them inside, passes around a joint or a bottle or both, and smiles. He closes his eyes, and listens. 


End file.
